The Long Dark

By Ian S. Bott

Trapped in the lengthening nights of Elysium.
Abandoned by the last convoy south.
Alone with her teenage son.

Anna never thought she would die this way.

It won’t come to that. She won't let it. She scours the darkened town for anything to help them make the long trek to rejoin their clan. But on a world starved of engineering resources it will take all her ingenuity to cobble together a usable vehicle.

A chance of escape is almost in reach when Anna finds they are not as alone as she thought. But the unexpected visitors are on a mission that they will kill to keep secret. Whatever these off-world intruders want, it can't be good for Anna's world, and a fight to save herself and her son becomes a battle for the future of the entire colony.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian S. Bott
• Release date: Dec 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781777402105

Ian S. Bott

I am a public servant by day, and a science fiction author by night when my dark side emerges to wreak murder and mayhem on unsuspecting imaginary worlds.I use my lifelong love of both science and art to bring new worlds to life for readers to escape to. Back in the real world, I escaped from Britain in 2004 but still miss proper pubs, pork pies, and real bacon.I now live in beautiful British Columbia with my wife, two children, and assorted pets.

Book preview

Chapter 1

From the center seat in the crawler’s drive cab, six meters above the ground, Anna ’t Hooft studied the treacherous terrain ahead.

Ground radar painted a cross-section of the organic mass under her wheels. Labyrinthine chasms and crevices plunged hundreds of meters deep. Twisted columns and webs of plant tissue spread and interlocked to form a solid-looking surface.

On Sponge, looks could be fatally deceptive.

A tingle ran up Anna’s back, and she blanked the radar screen. She could read the surface details well enough. She could tell what they concealed, and in her mind could reduce the plant mass to safe, clinical labels: soft, brittle, strong, source of water, building material, harvestable tubers. All the treasures Sponge had to offer could be divined from the colors, textures, and contours up here.

She preferred to not actually see what lay below.

Through the wraparound windows of the cab, Anna judged the distance to her goal. The marker beacon, standing two hundred meters away, had tilted at an angle, and the smooth olive ground nearby had a mottled look confirming the grim picture from the ground radar. Sponge’s upper layers here had thinned dangerously.

Harvest crews relied on the beacons Anna and her colleagues planted to guide them safely to and from their work sites. The last few were being gathered in ahead of the northern hemisphere’s long slide into winter. She couldn’t risk the crawler any closer to retrieve that beacon, but the town needed to salvage all the working equipment it could for next season’s harvesting operations.

Anna reached for the bank of controls alongside her seat, and the shortwave radio hissing and sputtering on top of the ground radar and inertial navigation screens.

Serendipity Control, this is Charlie Tango seven niner, respond please.

She scrunched her face and hit the volume button at the blast of static from the radio. She fiddled with the decoding controls, tuning the software that struggled to pluck meaning from the waves of electromagnetic interference bathing the atmosphere.

Serendipity Control, this is Charlie Tango seven niner. Anyone receiving?

On the third try, a distorted voice answered. Go ahead, Charlie Tango seven niner.

Got eyes on my last beacon for this run. Nearest end of the south-west line, but approach is tricky. Will be off grid for an hour or so. She checked the chrono. Plenty of hours of daylight left. See you for supper. Charlie Tango seven niner, out.

A quick scan of her surroundings. Glints in the distance reflected coppery sky from a network of catchpools. Beyond, grey shadows marked a series of ridges and a few clouds darkened the horizon, too far to be threatening just yet. To one side, the ground sloped up to merge with the bleached-bone swelling of a structural rib. Safe to travel on, but leading away in the wrong direction.

Anna pursed her lips. If she was going to stow that beacon, she’d have to fetch it the hard way.

# # # # #

Jennifer Steel glared at the beige-green orb of Elysium with mixed feelings. She loved the Company’s princely income from this soggy plant-covered rock, but as for the planet itself, it was hate at first sight.

It’s going to get bumpy in sixty seconds. The pilot’s voice held just the right blend of deference and warning. He gave no sign of the resentment she knew she evoked. She was well aware of the rules about passengers in the cockpit, but she’d been curious to see first hand her reluctant home for the coming weeks. She also liked toying with underlings, a privilege that came with her executive rank.

Even Jennifer, however, knew better than to argue with physics. She turned from the cockpit window and drifted, weightless, back to the luxurious confines of the cabin. She took her seat and strapped in before they hit thick enough air to light the scramjet.

Jennifer glanced at the three other members of the Company’s senior negotiating team before finally eyeing Simon Galloway coldly. He was no part of her team, and yet he’d invited himself onto her private shuttle, claiming to carry a message of vital importance from the President.

His green velvet jacket screamed extravagance. That, she could forgive, but worn over the top of a cream brocade waistcoat, silk cravat, with silk ruffs at the wrists it was ... over the top. Foppish.

Ice blue eyes regarded her patiently, destroying any illusion of whimsy.

Well? Better have this out in the open before her own simmering resentment got the better of her.

I apologize for the unplanned intrusion. His voice held no trace of contrition. "My orders were to bring this to the senior team only once we were off the longship." He offered a slim white envelope, pinched delicately between thumb and forefinger, pinkie cocked like he was about to sup from a bone china teacup.

Wordlessly, Jennifer plucked the envelope from Galloway’s limp grasp and turned it over in her fingers. The President’s personal seal was intact, and the real deal, as she verified with a tap to her tablet. A physical missive in a pry-proof envelope, primed to destruct if anyone but her broke the seal. Guaranteed confidentiality. A shiver ran up her spine.

The seat’s cream calfskin upholstery cradled her sudden weight as the craft lit its engines and began banking and maneuvering down through thickening air. As they banked, the skyward windows darkened against the sullen glare of the red giant star in the sky.

Tuned to her biometrics, the tablet confirmed her identity and disarmed the envelope’s destruct. A hard and razor sharp thumbnail cracked the seal and slit the flap of the envelope. She read the contents, bringing all her negotiation-table training to the task of keeping her dismay from showing.

An exchange of puzzled glances between the other negotiators told Jennifer they at least had no knowledge of Galloway’s message. The craft creaked and juddered in sudden turbulence, mirroring Jennifer’s own turmoil. There were always hidden agendas at work, anywhere the Company’s tentacles reached. That was a given. But Jennifer was used to being the architect, not the clay. How had Galloway slipped this past her?

As per its instructions, she passed the letter, already starting to degrade on contact with air, around the cabin. This handful of senior officials needed to know the score, to know how to steer the complex legal and financial discussions they were here to finalize.

As you can see–Jennifer fought to keep her voice steady and her tone matter-of-fact–our mission has a new factor to take into account.

Galloway’s expression couldn’t be said to be smug, he was too experienced for that, but it held a quiet anticipation. He’d known exactly what the letter would say. The President places a lot of faith in you.

Such precise wording. Outwardly a compliment, and nothing anyone would argue with. But ‘places’ rather than ‘has’? That single word gave the barest and utterly deniable hint that faith might be misplaced.

So, she said, while we are busy renegotiating the Company’s agreement with this colony, you have a mission of your own. Chasing a new drug.

Confirming tantalizing reports of its existence. Galloway’s eyes glittered. And given the potential impact of this on the trade talks, this has to be of the utmost secrecy.

Withholding inside information like that from the negotiations ... Jasmine Golightly, Jennifer’s legal expert, twisted her mouth. Any whiff of it beyond this circle, and we all spend the rest of our lives in jail.

Jennifer pondered while the cabin windows shone with the plasma glow of their hypersonic passage across the sky. A faint tang of burnt flint hung in the air. "Are we to know the nature of this potential discovery?"

The President chose not to commit that detail in writing. Galloway sniffed. Just enough information to convince you of the gravity of this order.

Jennifer narrowed her eyes at him.

Galloway smirked. "Your job is to make sure the Company will have complete control of this discovery when it finally breaks. The colonists get nothing."

# # # # #

Always patient when it came to safety, Anna reviewed the crawler’s controls, checking the giant vehicle was safely immobilized. She grabbed her mask from a hook on the back of her seat, and pulled it over her head as she descended a narrow stairway to the cramped equipment bay beneath the drive deck. She paused to settle the mask properly in place and pull a strand of hair out from under the edge seal, then she hauled a pair of two-wheeled dollies and a tool belt from the neatly-stacked storage racks.

Through the crawler cab’s lower airlock, Anna climbed down a ladder to the ground. Hints of over-ripe fruit in the air reminded her that the mask’s filters would need cleaning when she reached home. Her unfastened jacket flapped around her thighs in fitful squalls. She ignored an icy chill working its way around her waist through gaps in her clothing, and lowered the dollies to the ground.

She knelt and pulled off a glove to test the plant’s surface. Tight-knit matting and whorls of stringy fibers yielded to her touch. They felt dry, scratchy, but still held firm when she tugged on a handful. Seasonal changes were coming on fast, but maybe she’d arrived in time in this case. She suppressed a shiver of unease as she peered at the ground between her and the beacon. She had a job to do.

Up another hanging ladder, Anna mounted a slender catwalk suspended below the front of the cab. She selected a lightweight cable from the row of drums above her head and released the drum’s clutch.

Once more on the ground, she fastened the dollies a few meters back from the end of the cable, then clipped herself on for safety. With the end of the line slung over one shoulder, and a sounding pole in her free hand, she tested the surface ahead as she trudged away, sinking ankle-deep with each step.

Despite the late season wind keening around her, sweat slicked the edge of her mask by the time Anna slogged her way to the beacon.

She slackened off the beacon’s guy lines and carefully lowered the heavy three-meter pole to the ground, slipping the axle of a dolly beneath each end.

A sharp crack followed by a muted rumble startled her. She glanced instinctively back to the crawler, calming her heartbeat when she reassured herself it was okay. Five bright yellow boxes slung between silvery mesh wheels looked like a row of old-fashioned stagecoaches, except those ancient carriages were never built four decks tall. Home and safety. A crawler driver always looked to their rig first when danger threatened.

A faded echo rolled over her like distant thunder. Anna scanned the horizon. Her scalp crawled. There’d been no signs of a storm, and the landscape around her seemed placid, unmoving. Besides, that didn’t sound like it came from the depths.

She squinted skywards. A vapor trail traced a fast-moving line across the coppery sky and cast an ethereal shadow on the skim of cirrus that muted Big Red’s shine.

Anna puzzled for a moment, and released a pent-up breath. Dangerous time of year for craft to be chancing a landing. As if in answer to her thoughts, a powerful gust slammed into her. She steadied herself with the sounding pole and turned her attention back to the beacon. She had more important things to do than worry about nutloos offworlders dicing with the planet’s turbulence.

Chapter 2

Stairs!

Sweat streamed down Jennifer Steel’s face and she gritted her teeth in effort.

Her contingent was housed near the center of Jorvick, the largest of Elysium’s equatorial cities and the planet’s de-facto capital. The locals had emptied out an entire dome to accommodate their visitors. A fragile-looking skin a hundred meters across kept the poisonous atmosphere out and admitted a sickly orange light. The skin sheltered an irregular pyramid of buildings ten floors high.

It seemed they hadn’t mastered the art of elevators on this planet, so Jennifer toiled up flights of stairs on legs that had spent months in microgravity. Even though she’d always kept herself in good shape, and spent hours each day in the longship’s well-equipped gym, the transition back to full gravity was tough. Tough but manageable. And if she could manage at the age of seventy-two, then so could everyone else.

She emerged on one side of a large common room on the third floor, and paused to catch her breath and compose herself. Intended for communal eating and socializing, the room had been turned into a makeshift dormitory for those still too weak to manage the climb to their rooms higher up the hive-like habitat.

Jennifer was gratified to see the dozen or so people still bunking here were on their feet, walking the perimeter, regaining lost strength and balance. Maybe some had heard her climbing the stairs and hastily risen from their cots. No matter. There was intense though unofficial competition to not be the last to acclimatize. Careers depended on it.

Jayne Kildare, Jennifer’s head of security, appeared at her elbow. She must have followed Jennifer up.

Any more casualties? Jennifer asked. The return to gravity had taken its toll through a handful of minor injuries.

I would have notified you.

Of course. Jennifer let pass the implied rebuff. Jayne did know her job. And Don Kozyr?

Unchanged.

Jennifer grimaced, though she’d known the answer to that question, too. Minor slips and sprains they could handle, but wormhole travel had claimed a precious sacrifice. Don Kozyr, Jennifer’s elderly and obese senior financial analyst, had been a boor and a glutton. He could also break down a thousand-line financial statement at a glance and see opportunities for tax breaks and profit margins in the direst of balance sheets. More importantly, he could read the markets like a prophet. As a man, he would not be missed, but his obsessive love of all things pecuniary made him valuable to her.

Up until he’d emerged from that last wormhole transit a gibbering wreck.

Bleak thoughts crowded Jennifer’s mind, but she pushed them roughly aside. Make sure everyone takes note of Don Kozyr’s misfortune. I’ve emphasized enough the need for prime health and fitness to guard against exactly this. Plus an unhealthy cocktail of drugs, of course. Human minds didn’t react well to being squirted like toothpaste through non-space. They needed all the support they could get.

Jennifer scanned the room, looking for one individual in particular. Not finding him, she took a deep breath and started across to the next flight, up to her senior staff’s quarters. More stairs. Her legs protested, but on the plus side it meant that Timothy Finch, her senior negotiation strategist, must be making a good recovery.

She found Timothy seated in a smaller dining area leading off the main hallway, hunched over a tablet and a steaming mug of ... not coffee, judging by the bitter aroma wafting towards her. He looked up as she entered, and scrambled to his feet. She waved him to sit before he could injure himself with such sudden movements, and gratefully eased herself into a chair opposite.

A local brew, he said. Jennifer realized she’d been staring at his mug and wrinkling her nose. His hand shook as he toyed with the handle of the mug. They call it ‘char’. Not sure what’s in it. Some kind of tea, I think.

Timothy glanced over Jennifer’s shoulder, and leaned across the table. Simon Galloway’s made a nonsense of all our strategic planning. His foot tapped the floor, and his gaze made nervous circuits of the room.

Jennifer had left Jayne Kildare guarding the hallway outside, and this suite looked empty. A few doors stood open, showing spartan living quarters.

He needs us to sneak in one concession, she said. To gain clear and sole title to any future new drug discoveries.

The colonists will never agree to that. A share in Elysium’s pharmaceuticals is their livelihood.

Jennifer’s chair creaked as she sat back. Timothy had gone straight to the heart of the matter. She glanced around at the bare shell of a room. How private was this place, she wondered. Nevertheless, we have to find a way. Make concessions elsewhere, maybe.

Which would leave us seriously weak if Galloway’s ... venture ... doesn’t come through.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?

He swallowed and bobbed his head. You’re expecting us to pull off a miracle.

She allowed a shard of ice to enter her voice. "I’m expecting you to do your job. But this is not something we can either discuss or solve here. Galloway’s mission remains private to our senior executive leads. Not a hint beyond that group. But the entire team needs to understand the goals we’re after in the talks, and work on achieving them."

Timothy gestured to his tablet. I knew you’d say that, but it’s impossible to work properly with half the team still barely able to stand.

Then the acclimatization period will need to be cut short. Everyone will be on their feet and ready for strategy meetings two days from now.

A flicker in Timothy’s eyes was quickly masked. He nodded. I’ll pass the word.

# # # # #

Restless gusts rocked the crawler. Rain sluiced off the cab windows. Anna peered ahead through early afternoon gloom, seeking landmarks in the murk.

A mix of frustration and anxiety gnawed at her. Most of the town’s twelve thousand inhabitants had already started on the grueling trek towards the equator. Anna was one of the last, facing another day cut short by gathering storms. Another delay in the autumn clean up before she and the remaining townspeople could join the great trek south.

Another day closer to the tipping point, where Sponge’s fractious atmosphere would flip violently before settling into the next phase of its seasonal weather cycle. They all prayed they’d left themselves time to reach an equatorial city before that happened.

In her mind she worked back to when, under bright skies this morning, she’d last seen threads of yellow climbing the distant slopes of the southern ramparts. Today’s convoy south had several hours head start on this weather front. They should reach the shelter of the first way station before it overtook them.

More worrying, what about the few crawlers like Anna’s, still out in the field here? A glance out the corner of her eye at the radio beside her. Pointless. With the storm came swirling interference too deep to punch a signal through.

Anna pushed the unease aside and turned her attention back to her own run for shelter. At least, down here in the lowlands, a network of ridges broke the worst of the hurricane winds. All she had to contend with right now was sheeting rain and visibility measured in tens of meters.

Finally, the lights of a beacon glimmered, waxing and waning through gaps in the hard-driven downpour. Anna drew close enough to read the serial number glowing in her headlights on the side of the beacon, and gave a relieved cheer. This was a permanent pylon, marking the main route into Serendipity. She set a heading on the gyrocompass and angled the lumbering vehicle towards home.

An hour later, she nosed the crawler through an access tunnel into one of Serendipity’s cavernous garages.

The place was eerily quiet, with so many vehicles already gone. A deck director in a bright orange jacket waved her down one side of a row of supporting columns, then guided her around in a wide U-turn to face the pair of access tunnels at the far end. Anna slowed to walking pace as she threaded the house-sized cars between the columns.

With a deep sigh, she acknowledged the director’s hand signal to secure the rig. Before she began her long series of shutdown rituals, she gave in to her anxiety and contacted Control.

Relax, Anna, the controller said. All field crews in. You’re the last. Seth’s been asking after you.

A weight lifted off her mind. Thanks, Control. Let him know I’m in, will you?

Will do. Was that a hint of laughter in his voice? Control out.

Final checks completed, Anna transmitted a snag list to the maintenance chief and clambered down to the garage deck. A crew was already swarming up ladders and onto the drive units, checking strain gauges and lubricants. A tanker truck trundled past and aimed a nozzle at the towering wheels. A needle jet played over the mesh, washing away the detritus of a day’s travel.

Just routine stuff today. Anna waved to the maintenance chief and called out above the hiss and rush of water. Nothing needing repair or replacement, thank the skies. I need an early start tomorrow.

He huffed. Not a chance. Control says storm’s set to last through tomorrow at least.

Kak! It’s bad enough that it’s too dangerous to stay out in the field overnight. Anna’s shoulders sagged. We’ll never get finished at this rate.

What’s left out there? A few beacons now?

And the last harvest site is shutting down.

The chief whistled. I didn’t realize they were still working a site. Thought it was just clean-up.

The padres wanted to work as much as they could until the last minute.

This is cutting it fine by any measure of sanity. How’re they managing the nights?

The rigs have to come back of course. Everything else is lashed down hard against the storms. Anna shuddered. This time of the season, the planet’s hypersonic jet stream dipped and hugged the nighttime terminator. For all the planet’s unpredictability, this feature had been a constant threat for weeks now. Seems they’ve been lucky not to lose anything. I’ve got at least a dozen beacons unaccounted for. Broke free and blown away.

Sponge gives ...

And Sponge takes away. Anna finished the ritual saying.

# # # # #

Jennifer now saw stairs as a personal challenge. She kept a steady pace, breathing deeply and evenly, up the last steep companionway to the flat roof of the habitat. Her thighs and calves burned, but the sweat rolling down her face was due less to physical effort and more to the furnace heat of this damnable city.

The weather dome arched a few meters above her head, vanishing from sight beyond the railing that marked the edge of the roof. A luminous orange glow at eye level brightened to the outline of the planet’s giant star that seemed to loom across a quarter of the sky. A forest of clear mushroom caps stood shoulder high around her. Light wells, funneling daylight into the heart of the habitat.

The dome overhead creaked against a fitful background of breathy bass tones. Jennifer stared upwards at the carved ribs that met in the center. After a few seconds, she tore her gaze away and swallowed a fit of vertigo. The dome was swaying, but it gave the overwhelming sensation that she was the one moving, in direct contradiction to her inner ear. She focused on the rock-solid floor and regained her balance.

A movement in her peripheral vision announced Simon Galloway’s arrival. Today he favored a canary yellow shirt tucked into avocado green fitted breeches. Voluminous sleeves billowed as he emerged through the opening in the roof.

Jennifer noted he’d barely broken into a sweat. His eccentric dress sense might lull some people into thinking him an easy mark, but it seemed he maintained his physical fitness with the same ruthless efficiency as his career climbing.

Nice view. He sniffed.

You’ve left us with one hell of an uphill struggle.

So, straight to the point? No ‘how are you?’ No ‘isn’t it warm today?’ A smirk. As I said before, the President places great faith in your abilities to get her what she wants.

Shares in pharmaceutical profits are the cornerstone of Elysium’s colonial agreement. Jennifer worked hard to keep the snarl out of her voice. They’ll safeguard those to their dying breath. There had to be more to this deal. She fumed. Galloway was holding something back. Had she been offered an impossible task? Was he setting her up to fail?

We’re not asking them to surrender any existing income streams, just future discoveries. I’m sure there’s some leeway to offer short term gains in exchange.

What rationale could I possibly give for offering those kinds of concessions? They’d be suspicious, and rightly so.

Everything hinges on medicinal exports, doesn’t it? Bioactive compounds not found naturally in any Earthly species. A unique resource. Galloway inspected his distorted reflection in the polished cap of a light well. He smoothed an eyebrow, reminding Jennifer of a cat preening. He sighed, an elaborate and theatrical gesture. I admit it’s a tough assignment, so I’m authorized to give you bit more motivation.

Jennifer arched an eyebrow, but refused to rise to the bait.

Galloway smiled. This new discovery–

"Potential discovery, I think you said. To be confirmed."

Indeed. His face betrayed only a hint of annoyance at her interruption. I understand you have a little staffing issue in your senior ranks.

Jennifer blinked. The non-sequitur left her fumbling for a suitable response. Galloway saved her the bother. Remind me what happened to the not-quite-late but still unlamented Don Kozyr.

Dammit, he was toying with her. His mind failed during the last transit. You know as well as I do that’s a known hazard of space travel.

Despite the drugs we take to ease the mind?

The drugs are a necessary buffer, and it’s still safer than crossing a busy street. And you improve your odds greatly if you look after your physical health.

The slob had brought it on himself. The thought hung unspoken in the air between them.

Yet even with the best drugs, our range in a single transit is severely limited.

With a grimace of distaste, Jennifer thought back to the series of hops they’d endured to reach this distant backwater, and the lengthy return journey to proper civilization.

Imagine if we could extend that range–safely, mind you–a full order of magnitude. Maybe two.

Jennifer’s heart seemed to pause mid-beat. Her breath stilled. Her mind raced to encompass the possibilities. She realized Galloway was peering intently at her.

A corner of his mouth twitched in a wry smile. I see a light bulb glimmering.

Indeed, she murmured. "Imagine what it would mean for the company that held sole control of that key."

Galloway caressed the smooth polymer of the light dome in front of him, gazing deep into its depths. The future would be bright. His voice seemed wistful.

The stakes are way beyond any simple new medicine or recreational drug. I can see the Company’s interest.

It’s not simple greed, of course. Not the Company begrudging the colonists a share. But if Elysium retained their normal share of the profits, under the kind of agreement they have in place at the moment, they’d be able to clear their historical debt within months.

Jennifer felt a cold hand squeeze her heart. She knew the way traditional colonial agreements worked. And once they’d met the financial terms, they’d become a fully independent entity ...

And all rights would immediately revert to them. Our income stream would be cut off entirely. That cannot be allowed to happen.

So when this becomes official, we need to keep their hands off any part of the proceeds. Another thought occurred to Jennifer. "And that’s why your current mission has to remain a secret at all costs. This needs to be a future discovery."

So, I can leave this matter in your capable hands.

I still need a strategy to persuade them, without raising any suspicions, to surrender rights to future discoveries.

Pale eyes glinted. Dammit! The slimy creature was still hiding something.

Galloway drew out the moment, the silence between them accentuated by sporadic buffeting of the weather shield. Finally, a sly smile crept across his face. If you need a helping hand, you might like to know that the colonists are planning to propose an alternative agreement. Something that would be highly beneficial to them.

Jennifer stared. How in the Nine Hells would he know that? Sensations of plots moving unseen just beyond her reach made her head spin. She mentally shook herself. As much as it pained her to accept Galloway’s help, her mind suddenly latched on to the implications of what he’d just said. So, they would expect to give away some significant concessions themselves.

You’ve a reputation for seeing the possibilities in a situation. Why do you think the President insisted on assigning this negotiation to you?

Chapter 3

Jennifer Steel paused on the threshold to the conference chamber. The sneer, which was as much a part of her public persona as her sharp-pressed suit and dazzling white cropped hair, had to be reminded of its place. In full view, front and center.

She was on display and the senior representative of the Company on this inhospitable world. These colonials had to know that their best efforts to impress were doomed. All the same, she was unnerved to find that her habitual sneer had needed prompting.

Most colonies she visited made strenuous efforts on her behalf. Their efforts were laughable. Nothing off Earth could compare with the decadent ostentation she was used to. They tried, nonetheless. Hence the trademark sneer.

These people had deftly sidestepped the problem. The auditorium was large, but not overwhelming. The round floor could easily seat a thousand people. But it was also clear this space was entirely functional, used by the townsfolk here for everyday purposes and not created specifically for their visiting dignitaries.

Agreed, living in airtight domes they couldn’t simply erect a few walls and a roof just for the occasion, so they were making do with what they already had. But even so, some of the outlandish attempts at extravagant decoration she’d seen elsewhere had tempted her to laugh out loud.

Not so here.

Two long tables faced each other, for the Elysium and Company delegations. A third, smaller table closed the gap at one end. The Earth Nations Committee for Offworld Affairs observers, here to chair the proceedings and ensure legalities were observed.

Legal. Not necessarily fair.

Behind each of the three tables, a huddle of screens and smaller desks accommodated each contingent’s support staff and advisers. A respectable distance away, facing the observers’ table, a handful of media vultures sat on a small podium, ready to spread their edited biases to the worlds outside. They had their uses–the Company made as much use of public misinformation as any politician–but they were fickle. Jennifer was keenly aware of the cameras on her right now, and the commentators in the background looking to find hidden meaning in the tiniest clue: an unguarded glance, a micro-expression, the color of her suit buttons.

What took her by surprise was that everything was clean and comfortable, places at tables set out with precision, but all entirely businesslike. Jennifer breathed silent relief that she’d resisted suggestions that these people needed a show of wealth to remind them of their place in these negotiations. Her suit was smart, but not showy, and completely unadorned. Even the clasp closing the shirt at her neck was a simple Company crest.

She also noted the subtext here. The Elysium delegation was all about business, and was not cowed either by the Company itself or by her status.

She waited on the threshold, to be invited in by the Offworld Affairs chief facilitator.

The observers were already in the room, seated. They were the official hosts, so they were in place to formally welcome the combatants to the arena. There were no guns or swords in sight, but Jennifer saw this as gladiatorial combat all the same. There may be no blood shed, but financial hemorrhage and corporate slavery were as real to her as the corporeal variety.

The colonial delegation had also paused in a doorway around the circle to her left, easily identified by their pasty, bluish complexions. One face among them stood out. Maximillian Kyari, midnight-skinned legal counsel to the Elysium government, such as it was.

Kyari was certainly a renowned expert in interplanetary legal affairs and colonial resource agreements. As such he was a fine choice to advise Elysium on the delicately brutal negotiations about to commence. That he was also one of Jennifer’s secret weapons was their hard luck. They should have done more due diligence before appointing him. Admittedly, that was hard to do from eighty parsecs distance, especially when all travel and communications went through the Company’s hands.

That was not Jennifer’s problem.

The chrono, meter-high orange numerals projected onto the wall behind the observers, ticked to 10:00. The chief facilitator and all his contingent stood.

The chief facilitator raised his hands, arms outstretched to greet the two contingents. As appointed representative of the Earth Nations Committee for Offworld Affairs, I recognize the representatives of Elysium, and of Heron Baywater to the room.

Jennifer took her cue and advanced towards her table. The rest of her team followed, in strict order of rank, and arranged themselves behind their assigned seats at the table. A larger gaggle of support staff spread themselves out behind her. The colonists mirrored her team’s movements on the far side of the room.

Silence fell. Everyone remained standing while the facilitator clasped his hands in front of him. With heavy hearts we note the absence of Company negotiator, Don Kozyr. He gazed at Jennifer. Do you wish a delay in proceedings in light of this misfortune?

Jennifer grimaced and hastily turned the expression into an appropriate blend of sadness and resignation. We do not. Don Kozyr’s deputy will take his seat at the table.

The facilitator nodded and began his welcoming speech. Rich, deep tones belied his frail appearance.

Inwardly, Jennifer wondered at this subtle jab, dressed as it was in conciliatory tones. Losing a senior adviser in transit like that was considered a bad omen, to those who believed in such things. Jennifer didn’t believe in omens, but this could easily be a ploy to unsettle her team.

The head of the ENCOA delegation droned on. Formal introductions, person by person. Name, background and qualifications, position and role in the negotiations. Then a summary of the history of Elysium, the legal components of its colonial charter, and the framework within which the current review had been invoked.

Nothing here was saying anything new, but Jennifer used tried and tested mindfulness techniques to maintain her mask of attention. It didn’t help that the oppressive heat in these domes was drawing a trickle of sweat down the small of her back, and her throat felt raw and inflamed from the traces of native chemicals that the air filters couldn’t completely erase. At first, the slight spicy tang in the air was an exotic curiosity, but after a few days it made her feel sick. She longed to reach for the water glass on the table in front of her, but nobody was stepping out of line until the opening formalities were over.

The facilitator moved on to a reminder of the five-hundred-year-old ENCOA resolution limiting hereditary indenture. That caught Jennifer’s attention. Welcoming speeches by non-partisan chairs usually followed a standard format and never contained partisan messages. Here was a blatant reminder to the world outside that the colonists were legally entitled to freedom from Company control. A clear appeal to the wave of popular sentiment now riding high across the young worlds beyond Earth.

In theory, she could halt proceedings and make a formal complaint against the observers’ neutrality, and yet, Jennifer seethed to herself, this was the main reason for the negotiations in the first place. That was public knowledge, so they would argue that a mention at this point was perfectly natural, even required, as part of the context-setting.

All the same, it placed her team on the defensive before talks had even begun.

That could hardly have been accidental.

# # # # #

Mikel ’t Hooft glared at the tutorial program in frustration. Ninety-eight percent? Shame and disappointment briefly dulled his thinking. He rocked gently back and forth on the study bench while he stared at the screen. Where had he dropped those marks?

He stole a sidelong